Beating Tom
by J Forias
Summary: “On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.” Chamber of Secrets, Page 250, British Edition. This is a short series of ‘missing moments’ that trace the story of how Ginny was touched by evil, and learnt to move beyond it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Most of the credit and/or blame for these stories rests with JK Rowling for creating characters and plotlines that have inspired me to write them. Said characters obviously belong to her, as does Hogwarts and the elements of her plot that feature in this series.

**Authors Note:** This is a One-Shot series, in five parts. It was written before the release of HBP. I am enormously thankful to birgit on this one. This story owes a lot to the time she put into into beta-reading it. Thank you also to prplhez8, for her comments and good humour. Finally, thanks to the many writers on the SQ who have looked at Ginny's experiences in CoS. I can't deny that they got me thinking about what she went through. Hopefully, though, I avoided stepping on any toes!

**Beating Tom**

**1. Flushing a Dark Lord**

"_Oh Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done?  
You're killing off students, you think it's good fun –"_

My numb mind hears the rhyme and tries to understand. I am hidden, in a quiet spot, behind the drapes. There's a crowd gathering in the corridor but I don't care… because even in this hidden place, I am not alone. There's the voice, suddenly drowning out everything else; a voice that shouldn't be here.

"_Damn you, little girl! You and that bleeding ghost mean I still lack a death!"_

"_Tom! Where am I? What's going on?"_

"_You will forget, little one, you will forget…"_

What is it he wants me to forget? I don't want to forget it... I won't… It's a memory that feels so close and yet is blocked somehow. Then, all at once, the wall falls, and the scene flashes before my eyes.

I hear myself order the monster to attack a student. But, it's Tom… Tom is making me do this. And the only reason Justin isn't killed, is that Nearly Headless Nick throws himself in the way. In a moment of shocked horror, I shout at the monster to go and it obeys and yet… I hurt terribly.

"_No, finish him! FINISH HIM!"_

"_Tom! What? NO!"_

I shake myself away from this memory and find myself back at the first. Peeves has started singing once more –

"_Oh Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done?  
You're killing off students, you think it's good fun –"_

They all think that it's Harry, and it isn't… it's me. Why has it taken me so long to figure this out? Tom is… Tom is…

But no, Tom is my friend. He is the only one who cares about me. Hasn't he told me that often enough? Hasn't he said that everyone else hates me?

But then why is he punishing me? Why am I huddled sobbing behind the drapes, attacked by a memory that isn't my own? Isn't it Tom who's done this?

"_You will forget, little one, you will forget… and next time, you will be more compliant, won't you… you don't want another lesson like this one…"_

"_No, Tom."_

Must remember…

Tom promised me I wasn't the one doing this... he explained that I couldn't be…

Tom was lying.

It's Harry who gets the blame. They all hate him. And he's so miserable… and so brave. And it's me; it's me doing this… if this doesn't stop I'm going to kill someone!

Must remember…

He's here.

"_Broken through again, have you, Ginny? You really are becoming quite tiresome. And I must say that the amount of rearranging I am doing to your poor brain may end up having lasting results."_

His voice is cold and cruel… so different from how I hear it when he writes to me. Then his voice is warm and kind. He helps me; he alone feels my frustrations and knows my fears. He alone can I trust.

But, no… must remember…

"_You hurt me, Tom, why?"_

"_Why?"_

His laughter smashes its way around my brain. It hurts too.

"_And you hurt all the others. What did we do, Tom? What did I do?"_

"_You get hurt only because you fail to comply,"_ he answers coolly. "_I really am quite fond of you, Ginerva, and it would be so much easier if you would just learn to trust me like you used to."_

I want to trust him, I really do.

"_As for the others, they get hurt because they step beyond their station... we must none of us do that. Look at you, trying to stand up to a Dark Lord… far beyond your station, sweet, little Ginny."_

"_Dark Lord?"_

Suddenly, I know. I know it all. He does this each time I break through. He loves to see my horror, as I discover what I am in service to.

The echo of memory comes back:

"_Tom Marvolo Riddle… I am Lord Voldemort!"_

It's him. Terror rises up and I scream as loud as I possibly can, and yet, I don't hear a sound. I feel surrounded on all sides. Something dark is all around me.

"_You really are getting better at this, Ginny… you catch on so much faster…"_

He's mocking me. I feel angry and hurt and terribly, terribly small. I cast my hands around for my wand. And yet, I lack hands to search with.

I miss my wand. I'm terribly fond of it. Tom said the willow meant that it was powerful in the right hands.

My mind feels numb again, now that I know it's no use fighting him…

"_And now you shall forget… as you always do…"_

Must remember…

Suddenly, in frustration, I scream at him, "_WHY CAN'T I FIGHT YOU?"_

"_Because you are asleep, dear Ginny… didn't you know?"_

I bite back a stab of anger at myself. I should have realised… I've been asleep all along. And if I'm asleep, that means –

"_My eyes are closed."_

"_What?"_

And I wrench them open. It hurts, but it's a good pain. I am in my dormitory, alone, and it is early evening. I must have drifted off after I got back from lessons.

Suddenly, for the first time, I feel the weight of it all come crashing down. I feel myself collapse back down on to my bed. What have I done?

I think fast, desperately trying to understand. Tom can't really be You-Know-Who, he just can't be. He's a sixteen-year-old boy trapped in a diary and he's playing with me; telling me things he knows will hurt me. And I have to stop him, before he forces me to kill. He's evil, yes, but he's no Dark Lord…

And I'm going to beat the little prat. I think of all the horrid things that have been done to me through my life and I know that this is the absolute worst.

"You toyed with my mind, Tom."

My soft whisper fills up the silence of the dormitory. The room is empty; there is nobody to hear. But somehow, impossibly, Tom does.

"_Very impressive, Miss Weasley. Futile of course, but impressive nonetheless. It takes a fair bit of mental agility to pull out of a dream like that one."_

I feel… violated. He's inside my head. He has been for so long and I can see it all now; taunting and torturing, before messing with my memory so that I spew my heart out to him once more.

I see the diary lying on my bedside table and I grab it and forcefully open it. I find a quill and scrawl in black ink:

_I hate you, Tom._

I hear his laughter again.

_I told you everything. I told you about Harry._

"_Oh, yes, dear precious Harry."_

His voice is still in my head. I had desperately hoped that taking the diary would force things back to the way they had been. A part of me really wanted the old Tom back; wanted this MONSTER out of my head.

"_Let me tell you a thing or two about Harry. You yourself have noted the similarities between him and I. And I quite agree; he may well be the most powerful wizard currently residing in Hogwarts, bar two. And I assure you, a wizard like that will never look twice at someone like you."_

I grab the quill once more and write furiously.

_Harry is NOTHING like you. One day he'll notice me._

As my words sink into the paper, similar handwriting appears all over the page; sentence after sentence that I had written.

_He likes Hermione and I'm not as smart as her…_ is followed quickly by …_and I'm so dull compared to the other girls…_ and by …_everyone seems so much more confident than I am…_

Then, to the sound of the sound of Tom's cold, steady laugh, all the ink gathers in the centre of the page. A moment later, the ink darts outwards and the same words are written over and over again.

_Harry, will never like me… Oh, Tom, Harry, will never like me… Harry is never going to like me, Tom…_

I throw the diary away forcefully. It lands with a satisfying clump.

"_These are your words, Ginny, and I have to say that, for once, I agree. Take a look in the mirror, Ginny. You are a short, startlingly boring little girl, with ugly, glaring hair. Not to mention the fact that you are so weak-willed that you've been possessed all year by a mere diary."_

He is right, but it doesn't matter. I am going to stop Tom.

"I don't care, Tom," I whisper. "I'm going to destroy this diary and you with it."

"_You do amuse me so, Ginerva. I control you, little girl. Your will abates with every passing second."_

"Liar!"

"_Oh, but how to prove it to you? How to break the stupidly blind heart of a child? For it is that that keeps you fighting, Ginny. It idiotically denies the obvious… and believe me, it does you no favours in the end…"_

"You are the one who's blind, Tom."

"_You think so, do you?"_

The boy sounds horribly amused. I find myself wishing fiercely that he had a face that I could punch.

"_Do you know, I think tonight might be a night to address a few pet peeves. The first of course, is your irksome rebellion. You need breaking. The second, one that always annoyed me at school, is the full-proof sanctity of Gryffindor tower. How many times did I wish to wreak vengeance here, I wonder…?"_

His voice trails off into silence. Then it comes back stronger than ever.

"_Thirdly and most sweetly, that ridiculous title – The Boy Who Lived. I mean, seriously, that title is really asking someone to knock the poor boy off. Think of the headlines! 'The Boy Who Lived… dies'. I've always been slightly fond of a little comic irony."_

"NO!" I shout in a manner that should be heard even as far away as the common room. Yet, it isn't. My mouth has remained clamped shut the whole time.

I try to move my arms but they are locked down too.

"_I hate you so much, Tom."_

"_I know,"_ he answers. "_Now, pick up the diary and go down to the common room."_

I feel my body obey. I get off the bed, bend down and pick up the diary, before leaving the dormitory and going down the stairs.

"_I won't let you hurt Harry, Tom."_

"_I won't be the one hurting him, you will."_

We are in the common room. The twins are off to one side, chatting away to Lee Jordan. A group of my classmates are giggling over some magazine that is spread out on the carpet by the fire. None of them notice me.

"_I think you know where we're going, Ginny."_

Not here. I can't let Tom bring the monster here. I manage to stop my legs a moment before we reach the portrait door. Tom just laughs. I fight desperately for control of my mouth. I have to warn them.

"_You're going to kill them all, Ginny. Harry too… I'm afraid that that little fantasy wedding of yours isn't going to happen anymore. Sad really, you did spend oh so very long planning it."_

"_GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"_

It is all the distraction Tom needs to start me walking once more. We are soon outside the common room and moving steadily towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. There are students here and there, bustling past or standing talking, but there is nothing I can do to tell them.

"_I was laughing at you the whole time. You know that now, don't you?"_

"_You think that's something to boast about? You're nothing but an evil, little boy. You're pathetic!"_

I feel a world of darkness, as Tom reacts angrily. He is inside me so thoroughly now that I can sense every change in his emotions.

"_You'll regret saying that."_

He drags me into a corner that is hidden behind a statue of several huddled witches. And then he does it. He pulls me into his memory, just as he had after his monster attacked Justin.

I am kneeling at the feet of a grizzled man, with horrible light blue eyes. He has a strange black symbol etched on his red robes. His wand is levelled squarely at me.

"_Crucio!"_

I collapse against a wall, my whole body shaking in pain. It's enough to knock every other thought from my head. All I want is for the pain to the stop.

"_Pleasant, isn't it. And it's my memory. I can vary the intensity of how you feel it. This is but a love bite compared to the full force."_

And the pain is gone.

"_I won't beg…"_

Without the pain, this thought is all I have.

"…_I won't let you win."_

"_Much the pity, for your sake. Do you know, I think we're wasting time. I have a feeling that killing dear Harry will cause you more pain than any mere curse."_

My body is pulling itself to its feet once more.

"_Think of the disgrace when they find out it was you. You'll be sent to Azkaban. Nasty place is Azkaban – have you heard of Dementors? Let's just say that even if they separate us, Ginny, I will still stay with you in memories."_

I think of Mum and Dad. They would be so ashamed.

We are once more moving towards the girls' bathroom. We are almost there. I'm fighting as hard as I can, but I'm distracted by the echoes of pain that still hang over my body.

"Ginny!"

A boy hurries over to me. I look up to see the round, concerned face of Neville Longbottom.

"Ginny, are you okay?" He is mumbling. He seems to have lost confidence after shouting out across the corridor. "You look... I mean… you don't look well."

I feel a rush of affection for the second-year Gryffindor. He is always nervously friendly whenever he had sees me; even when I am trying desperately to avoid people.

"I'm fine," answers my mouth rudely.

I can feel Tom laughing at Neville. His hate is so strong… And yet, there is something more. Tom seems somehow weakened by this brief exchange.

Then, Neville reaches out and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He removes it a moment later, as if he is suddenly scared that I will react angrily.

"I know first year is tough… and uhm, it can get to you, being away from home and you know, feeling a bit lost… and if you wanted someone to talk to… well, ah, I'm usually around somewhere…"

Neville looks terribly nervous.

I nod and smile weakly. He bobs his head a few times and then hurries away. I bring my hand up to where he has touched my shoulder. The sweet gesture really means something.

"_Stupid fool!"_ says Tom. "_I always thought you Gryffindors at least had standards and a small modicum of style. That great lump just sunk that theory."_

I remain quiet.

"_Hurry up, Ginny. All your little Gryffindor friends will be awaiting our arrival; I just hope we get to kill that Longbottom first."_

I feel him order me into the bathroom. I obey.

"_Now, dear Ginny. I think it's time to call our friend. Don't you?"_

"No," I say. "I don't, Tom."

The diary is in my hand, and finally, I have control.

"You're no Dark Lord. You're just a frightened little bully."

"_What? Stop this, now!"_

His voice is an odd mixture of arrogance and panic.

My legs shake for a horribly long moment and I wonder if I have already lost that brief power over my own body. Then, with desperate mental effort, I force my legs to move. I run to the stall and throw the diary down the toilet with all my strength.

"Goodbye, Tom."

Then I run, as hard as I possibly can. I still feel the echo of him in my mind, but the further I get away, the weaker it becomes.

Finally, after nearly knocking over a group of third-year boys, I reach a quiet, narrow staircase that doesn't seem to go anywhere. I can still hear sounds on the corridor running past, but it is blocked from sight.

Slowly, my breathing returns to normal. I can't believe what's happened. I have been a fool for so long; I listened to Tom and his empty, long words. He explained away the paint and the feathers and the missing hours. But now… now that I know… what am I going to do?

I feel silent tears begin to run down my cheeks. If people knew, I would be expelled. There is no doubt about it. And I have wanted, for so long, to be here.

I want to tell, I really do.

But the very idea scares me to death. I can see them all staring at me with horror. Neville wouldn't be kind to me if he knew the truth. Percy would disown me. Mum and Dad would probably never want to look at me again. And Bill and Charlie, and the twins, and Ron…

I hear the sound of a far-off Filch hollering about something. It reminds me that Hogwarts is still happening, that life hasn't stopped. If I don't keep living, Tom wins.

And I think of Harry. The thought of him hating me is worst of all.

I can't tell. I just can't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Most of the credit and/or blame for these stories rests with JK Rowling for creating characters and plotlines that have inspired me to write them. Said characters obviously belong to her, as does Hogwarts and the elements of her plot that feature in this series.

**Authors Note:** First of all, many thanks to Birgit, for her brilliant beta assistance. Thanks also to DarkerRage, who put a lot of time into pre-betaing this one. Again, I should say that I have been inspired by the work of other writers on the subject of Ginny's experiences in CoS. Last, but never least, thanks to prplhez8 for the constant encouragement.

**Beating Tom**

**2. Only Memories**

I see him lying there and I know that he's dead. I know this despite the fact that he's shaking and that his eyes are wide open. They are terrified and I can tell that he is somewhere else right now. I ignore the creature to my right; I can't take my eyes off Harry. And now, I'm hearing the voice that I hear every night when I fall asleep…

"_I'm going to kill him, Ginny. You thought you'd beaten me; you thought you'd saved him. But his cold, dead body will lie next to yours before this night is through."_

And while this isn't the Chamber, it feels like it. I can remember the slow, cruelly steady sound of water falling.

_Drip…_

_Drip…_

_Drip…_

I remember being able to do nothing else but listen to the water ebb and feel life flow from my grasp; wishing that someone would come to save me, and dreading it at the same time.

"_I'll tell him about you, Ginny. I'll tell him how weak and pathetic you are. He might even laugh at your stupidity before I let him die."_

I remember fighting as hard as I could back then, but now… there's nothing I can do. I can't change a memory. All I can do is let that awful moment, when he appears out of the diary, play out over and over again.

Nothing can stop it. I'm lost.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

The words seem incredibly loud. I turn away from Harry, for an instant, to see the haggard-looking man, who spoke earlier, staring down the creature. He has his wand drawn and there's a white mist between him and the hooded monster. It's finally driven away.

The man looks at me for a moment and I see pain in his eyes. Yet I see kindness there too. I get the feeling that he knows how I feel, but I really hope he doesn't.

"Harry!" Hermione shouts.

She kneels beside him and is joined by Ron a moment later. I want to run to him too, but I can't move.

With a start, the Hogwarts Express jerks into movement and the lights come back on.

"Harry! Harry! Are you all right?"

Hermione is hitting Harry. I want her to stop. Harry mutters something. Yet that can't be right. Tom said he was dead.

It wouldn't be the first time Tom lied.

I don't like how I feel when I think of Tom. I don't like the hatred. When Ron trapped me in a weighed down laundry basket the day before my fifth birthday, I really honestly thought that I hated him. But I didn't. In truth, I loved him dearly, like I adore all my brothers. Tom taught me what hatred is, and I feel like he took a part of me. I think of the innocence of that five-year-old, as she kicks and pushes and screams at the injustice of the world, and I envy her. Even when completely enraged, she still loved.

Harry is talking. He looks beaten and shaken, but he is definitely alive. He seems to think someone was screaming. I wonder if somehow he heard me as I struggled against Tom.

_Snap!_

My hand goes automatically to my wand.

It's the brown-haired man, who I assume must be a professor. He's breaking a chocolate bar up into pieces.

"Here." He gives Harry a piece. "Eat it. It'll help."

"What was that thing?"

"A Dementor," answers the man quietly. "One of the Dementors of Azkaban."

He pats me on the shoulder as he gives me a piece. I'm struck again by how sad his eyes are.

"Eat. It'll help." The professor has finished giving out chocolate. "I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…"

He leaves.

Harry is just staring at the chocolate in his hands. He's entirely self-contained. He probably thinks it's a sign of weakness to show pain. Harry can be really stupid sometimes; he thinks he has to be strong all the time. If there's one thing I've learnt, it's that no one can be strong all the time. And, because of that, you have to find people to trust.

Trust is hard. It takes courage. Perhaps I should be more careful about who I trust. Yet I know that I can't let Tom poison me. Tom was a means to avoid trusting anyone else. Tom was perfect. A friend I could carry everywhere, who would never hurt me and who fit a hundred and one of my silly, romantic ideas. But real people aren't like that. Real people deserving of trust can be idiots that don't see their own brilliance, they can be mischievous, loving tormentors or they can have sad honesty in their eyes and a kindness so obvious that it almost hurts.

I hug my knees to my chest and try to figure out what has just happened. A tiny, scared voice is telling me that it's happening again. That Tom has found me. A stronger voice answers that Tom is beaten. That Harry killed him.

I look at Harry. The boy is shivering, his faith is clearly shaken; he's doubting himself. But I never will. And as I stare at his face, I know without doubt that Tom isn't coming back.

At least the Tom I knew…

So what was that? It must have been the creature. The professor called it a Dementor. Tom said something about Dementors once. Memories… yes, that was it, something about memories.

Neville speaks up from where he has been standing. He doesn't look well.

"It was horrible. Did you feel how cold it went when it came in?"

"I felt weird," replies Ron slowly. "Like I'd never be cheerful again…"

I sob. Trust Ron to describe it so simply and yet be so right.

Hermione leaves Harry and places an arm around me. I want to sob again, but I hold it back. I know that I've misjudged her. I was so jealous… I still am sometimes. But it's not right to be; that's just something Tom's left in me and I will fight it with everything I have.

"But didn't any of you – fall off your seats?"

Harry tries to sound like he isn't bothered by all this and fails miserably.

"No," says Ron. He has that look of nervous fear that is usually reserved for show-downs with Mum. "Ginny was shaking like mad, though…"

Typical Ron. My brother wouldn't recognise tact if it slapped him in the face. Right now, that mental image appeals to me for some reason.

Hermione still has an arm around me. She doesn't need to ask. She knows. Especially after last night.

I hadn't really been able to talk to her that evening, even though we had been sharing the same room at the Leaky Cauldron. Conversation had been polite but forced. I hadn't really known how to deal with my guilt. And, when I had finally fallen asleep, I'd had one of my worst nightmares of the summer.

I'd woken up to see Hermione standing over me. I was so embarrassed; I had been able to hide the nightmares from everybody else. Hermione had looked angry and sympathetic all at once. She had only asked one question, "Riddle?" and when I had nodded she had hugged me and I hadn't been able to stop myself from crying. I had tried to tell her how sorry I was but she wouldn't let me… Hermione can be very stubborn.

"Thanks," I whisper.

My voice sounds impossibly small.

The compartment door opens again and the professor returns. He looks at each of us in turn.

"I haven't poisoned that chocolate, you know…"

I'd forgotten the chocolate in my hand. A tiny part of me rebels at trusting something provided by a stranger, yet what I see in his eyes has already convinced me to trust him.

I put the chocolate in my mouth and bite down on it. Instantly the dull fog set over my mind becomes weaker. I don't feel happy, but I feel like I could be again without too much trouble. As for Harry, he looks better too. I'm glad to see the colour flooding back to his face.

It is some time later when the train finally arrives at Hogwarts. My head is still an awful mess. Thoughts of Hermione and Harry… and Tom… are all mixed together and I feel very confused.

I hate not being able to move. Just sitting there huddled in a corner reminds me too much of being trapped. I remember during my first year, a lot of the time, I just wanted to run away and keep going. I wanted freedom.

And that's why finally getting up and escaping this compartment brings the first, faint smile in what seems like a long time.

As we bustle out, Hermione touches my arm.

"Go with Harry," I say. And I smile.

"You're going to be OK?" asks Hermione with obvious concern. Some might find her tone nagging, but I know better.

"Yes."

"OK then…"

She quickly catches up with Harry and Ron, as they get off the train. I watch as they disappear up the mud-track.

I get swept behind the mass of people hurrying to get to the feast and eventually find myself getting into one of the very last carriages. It's empty. I'm just about to close the door when someone follows me in.

I vaguely recognise her as one of the Ravenclaws who I have Potions with. She has mud splattered across her front but doesn't seem to be aware of it.

"Oh dear," she mutters to herself. "I nearly missed this."

Then she looks at me with wide eyes.

"Oh, hi, Ginevra."

I blink.

"It's Ginny."

She continues staring. In the meantime, the carriage starts to move.

"Is it true that Harry Potter saved you from the Chamber of Secrets?" asks the girl out of the blue.

I gawp at her. Finally, I nod.

"Good," says the girl, sounding satisfied. "I was worried about you."

She pulls out a small notepad and what looks like a very strange quill from a pocket of her muddied coat. She begins to scrawl strange loops on the paper.

I watch her for a short time.

"Er… I'm very sorry, but I don't actually know your name," I say politely.

The girl laughs, and then seems to bite down on the laugh so it doesn't go out of all control.

"I'm Luna Lovegood. You've probably heard them call me Loony Lovegood, but it's not my name."

"Oh…" I say.

She returns to her notepad. She seems to be concentrating very hard.

"What are you doing?"

She stops immediately and pops the quill behind her left ear. I take another look at the quill. It's made of a clear material and the ink inside seems to be held still by some kind of clever charm.

"I'm working on my language," replies Luna. "It's a lot more difficult than you'd think!"

"Your language?"

"Oh, yes, it's one of the most important things. Everyone needs their own language. How else would we tell each other apart?"

I smile. "By our faces, maybe?"

Luna actually snorts with amusement.

"What do our faces matter?" she asks.

I think about this for a moment.

"So you're actually making up your own language? Like Mermish or Troll or something?"

Luna looks slightly offended.

"It's not at all like Troll. It's much more complicated than just pointing and grunting!"

This time it's my turn to laugh. I think I understand why people call her 'loony' but, at the same time, the conversation has made me feel better.

And now that I think about it, it would be pretty amazing if we did all have our own language. We'd know straight away what belongs to us and which bits are somebody else's words put through our mouth. Identity is such a hard thing to pin down, after all. The only problem would be that we wouldn't have any idea what anybody else was saying… we'd actually have to learn everyone else's language as well as our own.

When the carriage arrives, Luna and I hop out and follow the last few students into Hogwarts. Just before entering the great doors to the Entrance Hall, I gaze straight upwards and get a full idea of the height of the stone walls. There's something humbling about the sight.

I find myself wondering if Tom ever felt humbled in his life. Would he have turned out differently if he'd seen what I see in Hogwarts?

We have just reached the door to the Great Hall.

"You go on, Luna, I'm not hungry."

Luna starts as if she's forgotten that I've been walking beside her. She smiles vaguely at me and then watches as I turn around and hurry up a nearby staircase. I guess one of the advantages of being small is that it's easier to lose yourself. No prefects call me back.

It's so strange to be back here. The same paintings, the same wood-panelled walls, the same homely atmosphere… the same everything. Hogwarts is where I spent the worst year of my life and yet, I still love this school so much. I love the way that the very walls seem to shout with the promise of secrets, and the fact that you know that some of the most amazing wizards and witches are learning and living and teaching right beside you.

What I did… what Tom did was an attack on this school and those people. He could never see the beauty of Hogwarts; he couldn't see how wrong he was. I'm different, I am! And yet, when I think back on the memories, it's so hard to remember that I'm not really the one doing it. It's so hard to see where I end and Tom begins. Especially with Hermione, I was so jealous of her, after all. But Tom forced me to attack her. I didn't want to hurt her.

Didn't I?

Shut up, Tom.

I have wandered right to the top floor of Hogwarts. The night air is pleasantly warm and so I take a left turn and then climb up the circular stairs leading to the Astronomy tower.

Despite the warmth, the sky is starless. Great black clouds move slowly across it and they seem to carry the promise of a thunderstorm. I'm rather fond of thunderstorms. I love curling up and just listening to them.

I sit down on the edge of the parapet.

It's not fair. Damn Tom! Why does my first day back have to be like this? Why can't I move past it? Now all I can think about is what I did. I can't get myself away from the Chamber.

I had just lain there and refused to cry. I knew my tears only made him stronger and so I had blocked them. It was the very last thing I could try to do to keep him weak, to stop him winning. But it hadn't mattered, he'd come out of the diary anyway.

And it was Harry who had had to face him down. I remember my amazement when I saw that he had killed the monster and beaten Tom. He's incredible. Of course, I had been too scared of being expelled to be truly happy. I didn't want to see my wand snapped in two.

And then, in Professor McGonagall's office, he had tried to defend me again – refusing to tell them that it had been me all along. It was far more than I deserved. I still don't know how he could be so forgiving after what I'd done to his friend. He and Ron had been so miserable after Hermione had been attacked.

I place my head in my hands and allow myself to cry.

It is a long time later when I hear footsteps coming up the stone stairs. I wipe the tears from my face and try to find somewhere to hide. But I'm too late.

"Ginny, why are you up here? You should be at the feast!"

The girl has bushy hair and rather large front teeth.

"Shouldn't you be?"

Hermione looks uncomfortable. She fiddles with something around her neck.

"Yes, I suppose I should be," she answers. "I came to find out why you were hiding out up here."

"How did you know I was here?"

"Fred and George told me. They are worried about you. And don't ask me how they knew where you were…"

"They've probably got tracking charms on me. Interfering busybodies."

I pretend to be annoyed, but in truth, their concern is quite sweet.

Hermione's brow furrows. "Tracking charms in Unplottable buildings are very advanced magic."

I shrug.

The girl takes a closer look at me and says, in a quite different voice, "You've been crying."

I avoid looking at her.

Something violent flashes in Hermione's eyes. "I'm glad Harry destroyed the diary. I can't believe what Riddle did to you."

"It wasn't all Tom."

I feel a nervous jolt of fear, as I realise that I'm going to tell her the truth.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asks.

"I… I was really jealous of you. Harry likes you and respects you… and you have friends… and I was so lonely. I didn't mean to be jealous… but I was."

"Jealous of me?"

I can't understand why she sounds so surprised. I nod mutely.

"That's not the worst of it," I say, a moment later. "When you figured out what was happening, when you shouted to Harry about it… I was there. Tom and I, we heard. And he said that we had to kill you, that otherwise I'd be expelled and his plans would be ruined."

Hermione is staring at me with an unreadable expression on her face.

"I'd been fighting him for days. Ever since I got the diary back. And I tried to stop him… I swear I did… but I wasn't strong enough, because… because…"

I'm crying again. I desperately don't want to tell her. I sniff loudly and then blurt it out, all at once.

"Because a part of me really hated you and didn't want to fight Tom."

My tears have made my vision blurry. I can't see her very well, and yet, I can imagine the look of anger and disgust she must be wearing. She seems to be moving closer and I ready myself to face whatever attack is coming without defence.

Hermione hugs me. I don't recognise it for what it is at first. But her arms are around me and my face is lost in bushy hair. There's really no doubt that it's a hug.

"What…?"

"You poor thing. You've spent all summer thinking that this is your fault?"

I don't understand what is going on. I break out of the hug and wipe the tears from my eyes.

"But it is my fault! I'm just like Tom…"

My voice sounds strong for once. Somehow it feels good to voice my worst fear.

"Don't be ridiculous," says Hermione. Her voice is matter-of-fact but I see tears on her face too. "A lesser person would have given up long before the attack on me. You fought as hard as you could, and perhaps a little bit harder. Everybody gets jealous, especially when they don't know people very well. I know a thing or two about that from primary school. And Riddle simply used your particular weakness against you, just as he did with Harry."

"Harry's weakness?"

Hermione's eyes widen.

"Well… ah, he knew Harry would come after you… into a trap." She bites her lower lip. "I'm really sorry; I shouldn't have brought that up."

"That's OK," I say quietly. "It's nothing I haven't said to myself."

"Ginny! It wasn't your fault. You fought so hard! I watched you struggling in your nightmare, and that was only a glimpse of what you fought against. Of course Riddle used your jealousy to his own ends, to weaken you; he's evil – you know who he grew up to be!"

Her voice has been getting progressively louder. She calms herself and continues -

"But attacking me was his intent, not yours. And trapping Harry, I'm sorry, but that was Tom playing to Harry's heroism. I'm not saying that it wasn't a great thing for him to do, but…"

Hermione's voice trails off. She's wondering if she's said too much again.

"It was a really stupid thing for him to do," I finish for her.

Hermione's sigh is barely audible. "He really should have gone and told McGonagall. I bet she would have believed him after first year. I'm glad he got to you in time though."

I smile ever so slightly. "So am I."

Silence follows for a while. I can't believe that she doesn't blame me. She really is a brilliant person. I feel a sudden burst of anger at all those who've called her a know-it-all behind her back, without even getting to know her. I feel angry at myself too, but that's all right, because she's forgiven me.

It seems so strange to have this weight removed from my shoulders.

"I really am sorry," I say.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," replies Hermione stubbornly. Abruptly, she makes for the doorway. "Come on, we don't want to be out after hours."

I laugh, as for an insane moment she reminds me of Percy. Then a scary thought occurs to me. The last thing I want to do is to get a lecture from my Head Boy of a brother for being late back to the common room. We walk out side by side and I feel honestly, truly happy, for the first time in ages.

"So, what do you think of Professor Lupin?" asks Hermione.

"He was the man in our compartment?"

"Yes. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," replies Hermione impatiently. "He seems to know his subject. It will be really exciting to have a knowledgeable Defence teacher, don't you think? It's such an important subject after all. We might even have practical lessons!"

I stop walking.

"Oh no! Don't tell me you've got a crush on _another_ Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"You knew about Lockhart?" asks Hermione in a rather embarrassed voice.

I laugh. "Most of the school knew!"

"Oh no…"

"So tell me more about your thing for Professor Lupin. I suppose he does have rather nice eyes…"

"I do not have a 'thing' for Professor Lupin," replies Hermione hotly.

"Are you sure?" I ask wickedly. "I bet you've got all the ingredients for Mum's love potion laid out in your cauldron right now."

"I do not…! I would never…!"

She is about to go off on an outraged rant when she finally notices the expression on my face. Our eyes catch and we burst out into helpless giggles. Just two girls, laughing at the absurdity of the world.

Hermione is the first to gain control of herself.

"Shhhh! We don't want Filch to find us!"

I wouldn't care if he did. It feels good to have a friend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Most of the credit and/or blame for these stories rests with JK Rowling for creating characters and plotlines that have inspired me to write them. Said characters obviously belong to her, as does Hogwarts and the elements of her plot that feature in this series.

**Beating Tom**

**3. Social Bravery**

"WHAT!"

"Keep your voice down!" Hermione hushes, as we walk into the Great Hall.

"Viktor Krum asked you to the Ball?" I clarify in whispered tones.

Hermione nods; her face is flushed with embarrassment and just a hint of something that might be pleasure or even pride.

We sit down to lunch, slightly out of earshot of everyone else. Ron and Harry seem to have got lost on their way from their last class, and so, for once, I can have a proper conversation with Hermione.

"When did all this happen?"

"Yesterday, in the library," she answers.

I'm incredulous.

"And you waited this long to tell me about it?"

"Well, I was a bit stunned…" she says defensively.

I help myself to some mashed potato without really paying much attention. Consequently, only half of it lands on the plate, the rest topples over onto the table. I ignore it.

"So what happened? What did he say?"

Hermione hesitates before answering, as if deciding how much to tell. "He was so sweet. He came over to me in the library and just straight out asked me to the Ball."

"Really?"

Hermione nods and she can't stop a smile from pulling across her face.

"Obviously, I thought it was some kind of joke and nearly walked off in a huff. But… well… he said, he couldn't stand it if I didn't talk to him now. He said he'd been summoning up the courage for ages, just to talk to me."

Bless. I can't help thinking that it's about time some boys paid attention to Hermione.

"Well, of course, I couldn't walk away after he said all that."

"Of course not," I reply with a straight face. "It would be plain rude not to allow him the chance to deliver more flattery."

Hermione giggles. She actually sounds like a fourteen-year-old girl for once. This is one side of her that the boys rarely see. Not that they tend to look very hard.

"And the best bit," continues Hermione, "was that gaggle of giggling girls that are always stalking the poor boy. They were on the other side of the bookshelf and were listening in. One of them lost it completely and started screeching her undying love at Viktor and had to be escorted from the library by Madam Pince."

Now there's a funny mental image. I've seen Fred and George 'escorted' from the Library once or twice and it's always good for a laugh. I wonder which Krum groupie it was… it was probably one of the girls that sits at the back of my Potions class mooning over Snape. I shudder at the thought.

"So… do you like him?"

Hermione finishes chewing a spoonful of peas that she has hastily placed in her mouth, before adopting a thoughtful expression.

"He is awfully mature, very polite, too, and he's actually rather intelligent once you get to know him."

I snort with laughter.

"Hermione! You are going to the Yule Ball with a world famous Quidditch Star and you're discussing his _social skills?_"

Hermione gives me one of her 'superior' looks. "I don't make decisions on who I go to balls with based on their abilities on a Quidditch pitch."

"But he caught the Snitch in the Quidditch World Cup Final!" I say, somewhat outraged.

I'm turning into Ron.

"He was fairly good," Hermione states. "Although he really should have taken better care about getting hit in the face. I had a word with him about that."

I groan and place my head in my hands. Hermione is never going to understand about Quidditch. Strangely, she's one of the only people who knows just how obsessed I am with it.

Hermione continues eating at great speed. She's cleared her plate in a matter of moments.

"Right, I want to look up bezoar properties again before Potions. I'll see you after lessons…"

"Hermione? Can I have a word?"

It's Neville. He's looking extraordinarily nervous for some reason.

"Sure, Neville."

They walk over to one side, close to the entrance where students are still hurrying in and out. I watch them curiously. Neville seems to be talking to his shoelaces rather than to Hermione. Then Hermione goes bright red. It's hard to tell from this distance but she appears to be stuttering a little. That's strange, Hermione never has trouble talking. Now she's backing away and Neville's nodding strangely and then… Hermione practically legs it out of the Great Hall.

I abandon my half-eaten mashed potato and walk over to Neville. His head is bowed.

"What's up, Neville?"

He looks up with a start. "Oh, hi Ginny. Nothing's up, I'm fine, lovely day, how are you?"

I give him one of the looks I usually reserve for interrogating Fred and George.

"What did you say to Hermione?"

Neville's adam's apple bobs up and down. "Oh nothing, absolutely nothing… unless, well… I might have asked her to go to the Ball with me."

Poor Neville.

"Oh, Neville. I'm so sorry. She's already going to the Ball with someone else."

As I say this, I notice a group of Slytherin girls enter the Hall.

Neville, however, has his back to them and doesn't notice. He has an odd smile on his face. "She is? I thought she made that up to have an excuse for turning me down. I mean who'd want to go to the ball with me? I can't believe I had the nerve to ask her."

"What's that Longbottom? _You_ asked someone to the Ball?"

The voice belongs to Daphne Greengrass, one of Pansy's bitchy little threesome.

"Ha! Who'd want to go with him?" says Pansy, right in Neville's face. "Everyone _knows_ he can't use his wand properly."

Neville takes a step backwards, blushing bright red. Daphne and the third member, Tracey Davis, laugh loudly. They sound like a pair of braying hyenas.

I take a step forward.

"Oh, go get a life, Pansy. And if you're really interested in good wand work, I suggest you stop hanging out with Draco Malfoy so much."

My hand is resting dangerously close to the wand in my pocket. I might not have much of a chance against all three, but I'm fairly certain I'll be able to give them a really bad case of pre-Ball pimples before they take me down.

"Standing up for the Squib, are you Weasley? Figured that with Potter oh-so-intent on 'study sessions' with beaver-girl, you'd go for someone a little more… attainable?"

How dare she? I'm just about to go for my wand when Neville pipes up.

"You're just jealous because they're both far prettier than you!"

This comment confuses me greatly. Who? Hermione and… _Harry?_ I have as strong an appreciation for Harry's looks as anyone, but I'm not sure I'd ever describe him as 'pretty'. Although maybe in comparison to Pansy Parkinson…

The three girls burst into gales of laughter.

"Yeah… that's right! I'm jealous of the bookworm and the runt."

And with that, the three girls head to the Slytherin table, Pansy pausing only to blow a horrible imitation kiss in Neville's direction.

Harry's not a runt.

I shake some sense into myself. Why do I always get distracted by thoughts of Harry, all the time? It's frankly embarrassing.

Neville is looking perfectly dejected.

"You can ask me if you like," I say quietly.

"What?"

"Well, you know, I'm a third-year. I won't get to go otherwise. You'd be doing me a favour."

I don't think he's fooled. But he smiles anyway. "Will… will you go to the Ball with me, Ginny?"

I grin back at him.

"I'd love to, Neville."

Urghh. History of Magic is my all-time least favourite lesson. I get the general feeling that the subject could be quite entertaining if we had a teacher who actually noticed that there were real-life students being forced to endure his lessons. Sadly, I'm not even sure if he's noticed that he's dead yet.

I mean the subject has guts, gore, dishy battle-wizards and yet he _still_ makes it sound boring. Incredible.

Well, at least it's finally over now. I murmur a few greetings to my similarly brain-numbed classmates, as I make my way slowly back to the Gryffindor common room. Thanks to frequent eye-rubbing and head-shaking, my head is slightly clearer as I step in through the portrait hole and am promptly bowled over by Ron.

I find myself staring up at my concerned brother's face.

He cringes. "Sorry, Ginny. You okay?"

"Yeah…" I groan uncertainly. Ron offers a hand and helps me to my feet. "Although why exactly were you pacing around the common room like a hexed Bludger?"

Ron's face pales.

"Er… no reason."

"Ron, what's wrong?"

Now I'm the one that's concerned. Ron pulls me over to a distant corner and we both sit down.

Ron mutters something of which the only audible bits are 'flurdacur' and 'ballwime'.

"Pardon?"

"I ASKED RUDDY FLEUR DELACOUR TO GO TO THE BALL WITH ME!!"

The entire common room turns around to stare at the two of us. I give everyone a sardonic wave before turning back to Ron.

"What? Why?"

"Darned if I know," Ron moans, before placing his head in his hands.

"I take it she didn't say 'yes'."

Ron comes out of his depression long enough to give me a rather savage looking glare.

Well, honestly, it's not my fault if I've grown up to stories about how irresistible Weasley males are. Charlie and Bill are always larking on about the latest pretty girl they've picked up and Fred and George can be almost as bad sometimes.

"It's her loss," I say, and I rub his arm consolingly.

It's at that moment that Harry walks in. He looks as numbed as I must have done a few moments ago. He's just got out of Potions and considering how evil Snape is to him, he probably hates it worse than History of Magic. I hope Snape didn't make him stay after; class finished at least fifteen minutes ago.

"What's up, Ron?"

Harry sits down opposite us.

Ron seems to lose control completely. "Why did I do it?" he shouts. "I don't know what made me do it!"

I fight back a smile.

"He – er – just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the Ball with him."

Harry's features contort in shock.

"You _what?_"

And Ron explains, his hands waving energetically, as if trying to grasp at some rhyme or reason to make everything okay.

I look at Harry. He looks quite sad for Ron's sake. It's really very sweet of him. Personally, I'm fighting back laughter.

Ron's mumbling into his hands now. Poor Ron.

Finally, Harry speaks up.

"She's part Veela," he says sympathetically. "You were right – her grandmother was one. It wasn't your fault, I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it – but she was wasting her time. He's going with Cho Chang."

I stare at him, and he continues.

"I asked her to go with me just now," Harry says dully, "and she told me."

_That_ is why Harry seems sad. He's just asked Chang to the Ball. Cho Chang; the beautiful, athletic, popular fifth-year. And he is gutted that she's said no.

"This is mad," Ron says. I agree. I should know better than to be this upset. "We're the only ones who haven't got anyone – well, except Neville. Hey – guess who he asked? _Hermione!_"

"_What?"_

I snap out of my self-indulgent moping. I don't like where this going. It doesn't sound very complimentary to Neville _or_ Hermione.

"Yeah, I know!" Ron starts to laugh. He suddenly cheers up when the joke's at somebody else's expense. "He told me after Potions! Said she's always been really nice, helping him out with work and stuff – but she told him she was going with someone. Ha! As if! She just didn't want to go with Neville… I mean, who would?'

The git is breaching confidences, and managing to slag off two of his friends and unknowingly his only sister. And as for Harry… Harry, looks like he's about to laugh.

"Don't!" I warn furiously. "Don't laugh –"

He's laughing. He's actually laughing.

I hear a familiar voice.

"Why weren't you two at dinner?"

Hermione has walked over.

"Because – oh, shut up laughing, you two – because they've just been turned down by girls they asked to the Ball!"

I'm perfectly furious at Harry right now, but my rage dies down a little when I see his laughter abruptly stop. He just looks upset again. Darn it, I know Harry's not perfect. I do. Don't I?

I mean, of course he's going to laugh along with my idiot of a brother. Especially after the fight they had over the damned Goblet. He's a boy, for crying out loud. I should really cut him some slack.

Hermione is taking the opportunity to mock Ron. We are all on great form today, aren't we? Really tearing pieces out of each other.

"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" she says. "Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone _somewhere_ who'll have you."

I wait for the inevitable snarky comeback.

"Hermione, Neville's right – you _are_ a girl…"

That doesn't sound like a snarky comeback. What the heck is going on? Harry looks quite confused too. His head is following the two of them as if he's at one of those tennis matches Dad made us go to once.

"Oh, well spotted." Hermione seems incredibly angry, and I'm not entirely sure why.

"Well – you can come with one of us!"

Oh… that's what's going on. Ron's about to get turned down for the second time in one day. I might have had more sympathy if he had just tried to phrase it a little better.

"No, I can't."

"Oh, come on, we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has…"

Hermione has gone scarlet. It seems to be the skin-colour of choice this afternoon.

"I can't come with you, because I'm already going with someone."

"No, you're not!" Ron says, with a classic lack of thought. "You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

I wince. Thankfully, no one is looking at me right now.

"Oh, _did I?_" Hermione's lips have thinned in an uncanny imitation of an angered McGonagall. "Just because it's taken _you_ three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one _else_ has spotted I'm a girl!"

Ron stares at her, stunned.

Think, Ron. Just for once, think before you speak.

"OK, OK, we know you're a girl." I breathe a sigh of relief. Although, I'm still not completely certain why he's grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Oh no, he's opening his mouth again.

"That do? Will you come now?"

Oh, Ron. Poor, stupid Ron.

"I've already told you!" shouts Hermione, enraged. "I'm going with someone else!"

And then she storms away, leaving a gawping Ron in her wake.

"She's lying," Ron states, in a dull kind of tone.

"She's not," I answer quietly.

Ron nearly breaks his neck as he snaps his head round to stare at me.

"Who is it, then?"

"I'm not telling you, it's her business."

I'm not feeling particularly affectionate to him right now. He's been a complete fool, insulting Hermione like that. Even Harry looks like he might have realised that Ron's gone too far.

"Right," says Ron. His voice sounds strangely shaken. "This is getting stupid. Ginny, _you_ can go with Harry, and I'll just –"

It seems to be Ron's day for making a mess of things. I mean, of course I'm going to be happy to go to the Ball with Harry. Why, I reckon he'll expect me to be thanking him for setting us up. Not likely. I said I'll go with Neville and I will. Rather that than have Harry be 'stuck' with me.

"I can't," I interrupt, although I can feel myself beginning to blush. "I'm going with – with Neville. He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought … well … I'm not going to be able to go otherwise, I'm not in fourth year."

Why am I making excuses for going with Neville? They're for Harry, aren't they? I'm making it perfectly clear, at least in my own pathetic head, that I'm waiting for him – that I'm being loyal to a fantasy.

Harry's looking at me, but I avert my eyes.

"I think I'll go and have dinner."

I bow my head and walk away.

"_Let me tell you a thing or two about Harry… you yourself have noted the similarities between him and me… he may well be the most powerful wizard currently residing in Hogwarts, bar two… and I assure you, a wizard like that will never look twice at someone like you."_

I hear the eleven-year-old shout back.

"_Harry is NOTHING like you! One day he'll notice me!"_

I hear him laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

My eyes snap open. I've got good at doing that when the nightmares come. Just pull my eyes open and it's over.

I take a couple of deep, calming breaths. My bed-sheet is coiled up and wrapped around my legs. I free them slowly, trying to ignore the beads of sweat that have gathered on my forehead and the cold-flush that has swept through my body.

I haven't had a nightmare about Tom in over a month and I find myself wondering why I'm having them now. Of course, in truth, I know the reason. I'm being forced to accept that Harry isn't some perfect prince who I'm destined to be with. He's just Harry.

Sure, I already knew that he could be dumb and oblivious. But I've never seen him show the thoughtless cruelty of a teenage boy – laughing at the expense of a friend. Of course, there are reasons, and he might even regret it if he looked back on it, but that doesn't change that moment when I saw him as being as flawed as anyone else.

I remember Tom laughing at Neville; he was so horribly dismissive, so demeaning of another human person. But that doesn't mean that Harry is anything like Tom. I myself still have a little bit of Tom in me. I have good and evil all competing inside.

It's strange, for a moment, to see myself as equal to Harry. I've always believed him to be exceptional, and I still do… but even he succumbs to doing the wrong thing once in a while.

And the fact that he's not perfectly good makes the idea of me waiting for him all the more ridiculous. Harry doesn't want that, and neither do I. I deserve to be happy, not moping around, pining over a boy who fancies ruddy Quidditch stars.

I'm going to go to that Ball and I'm going to enjoy myself. And just once, I'm going to forget about Harry James Potter, and I'm going to be my own person.

It sounds like fun.


End file.
